


Riptides

by Decepticonsensual



Series: Enemy Mine [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 14:24:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1269766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "In the Wake".  Fortress Maximus has struck a deal with an old enemy in order to take down a Decepticon stronghold.  On the journey there, Overlord makes him an offer - he’ll let Fort Max bind him and punish him for his sins any way he likes.  But who’s playing whom, here?</p><p>Warnings:  Oh, so many.  Consensual BDSM, including bondage, blood (energon), and fairly graphic injuries.  Brief descriptions of panic attacks and references to past violence/character deaths.  Also, please note that while this is definitely consensual, there are some messed-up and manipulative dynamics going on here.  (In other words - Warning:  Contains Overlord.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riptides

This was a bad, bad idea.

This was a terrible, horrible, horrendous, shameful, Overlord-willingly-in-cuffs-and-looking-up-with-a-dirty-grin idea.

Fort Max liked this idea far more than he should.

“Well, Fortress Maximus?  Are you just going to stare at me  _all_ day?”  The charge on the cuffs wouldn’t let Overlord move too far, but he did manage to tilt his head, optics sparkling.  The fact that the motion required him to fight his restraints just a little, slowing it down as if he were wading through water (or spilt energon, Fort Max grimly reminded himself), only made it appear more sensual.  A cybercat angling to be stroked would hardly be more shameless about it.  “Not that I’d blame you.  I’m sure I make quite the picture.”

That voice.  He could still remember it purring in his audial like that as the mechs he’d commanded were cut to pieces in front of him.  The memory still froze the fuel in his veins, but it no longer sent him spiralling into a panic as it once would have.  The rage that had always overlain the panic, however, remained.  It flooded his spark as he looked down impassively at his one-time captor.  Even bound and at Fort Max’s mercy, Overlord was still toying with him.

Well, Fortress Maximus was no one’s toy, not anymore.

He bent forward to cup Overlord’s chin in his hand, tilting his face upwards; Overlord’s engines gave a pleased little snarl, and those absurdly lush lips curved at the edges.  The Decepticon actually leaned into Max’s touch as he stroked a knuckle over his cheek.

And then Fort Max pulled away, abruptly enough that Overlord jolted forward, slightly unbalanced.  The enforced lethargy of stasis kept him from leaning far enough to fall, but there was a brief flash in his optics as he looked up at Max.  A nanoklik of uncertainty, before the smugness reasserted itself.

Good.

“I have one rule.  One rule that you  _will_ obey.”

“But of course.  I am yours to command, Fortress Maximus.”  A rich chuckle underscored the words.

“My rule is this.  You are here of your own volition, and everything we do is going to be according to  _your_ will.  If you want to stop at any point, _you will say so_ , and I will stop immediately.”

The smile melted off Overlord’s face, to be replaced with a frown.  “I don’t see why that’s necessary,” he pointed out in his most silken tones.  “Surely, I’ve already given my consent.  In fact, if you’ll recall, this venture _was_ my idea.”

“Oh, I remember.”  Fort Max’s voice was grave.  “You were terribly eager for it, in fact.  Just couldn’t  _wait_ for me to get you in restraints and start to tear into you.  You want me to hurt you, and to like doing it – and then to crumble when you shove that in my face as proof that we’re not so different, after all.”  He crouched low and leaned in, so that his lips were barely a breathspan from Overlord’s.  “Three years.  Do you think I don’t know you?”

He got a tiny jolt of satisfaction from seeing Overlord wince and pull back a little.  “Well.  If you don’t intend to vent your rage on me… if you don’t intend to avenge all those  _poor_ mecha who died in Garrus-9…”  He stuck a look at Max, whose face betrayed nothing.  “What do you mean to do with me?”

“Oh, Overlord.”  Fort Max smiled, and reached out to grab his “captive’s” audio finials roughly; but no sooner did Overlord growl at the touch, pleased, than Max’s hands turned unbearably gentle.  He rubbed his fingertips up the sensitive metal, watching Overlord squirm in frustration.  “I’m going to give you  _exactly_ what you want.”

He rose, and extracted an electro-whip from his subspace.  Lucky that he’d armed himself to the teeth with every weapon he could think of, from the most obvious to the least, before embarking on this journey; although he’d imagined that he’d need them to bring down his new  _ally_ if Overlord got out of hand, not… this.  Overlord’s optics flickered with subdued interest.  Max dangled the whip handle casually between two fingers.  “Do you want this?”

The look of interest turned surly.  Max shrugged, starting to put the whip away.

“Wait.”

“Mmmmm?”  Fort Max drew the whip slowly across his palm.  A faint, lazy crackle of electricity buzzed pleasurably against his hand.  “Have you changed your mind, then?  Would you like to feel the snap of this across your plating?  Or is there something else you’d prefer?  A chain, a blade?  My hands?”  He leaned close again.  “Tell me, Overlord, how  _do_ you want me to hurt you?”

Overlord grit his denta.  “I want the whip.”  It was barely a whisper.

“Are you certain?”

“I.  Want.  The whip.”

Fort Max flipped it around and laid the handle against Overlord’s lips in a parody of a shushing gesture.  “That wasn’t very enthusiastic.”

“Slag it, Maximus,  _whip me,_ ” the bound mech snarled.

Max chuckled.  It was partly for effect, but not completely; he  _was_ entertained watching Overlord’s reactions.  It wasn’t nearly enough, though.  A little temporary annoyance was the least of what he intended to inflict.

They had time, he reminded himself.  Oh, they had time.

Circling Overlord slowly, he let the tip of the electro-whip trail over that rich blue plating, first slipping down Overlord’s back struts, then inching back up, as if Max were trying to figure out the best spot to target.  Overlord shivered eagerly.

The first  _crack_ opened up a welt the length of Max’s arm, its wilted edges curling away from the bared circuitry underneath.  Overlord jolted with the blow and let out a grunt.  A second blow criss-crossed the first, scorching the blue paint.  Max stayed his hand for a moment, watching; he could just make out Overlord’s knees spreading slowly, his back curving into the next strike.

“Mmmm.  You really do like this, don’t you?” Max whispered.

“Not as much as you obviously –”

“Don’t kid yourself.”  He clucked his glossa almost affectionately.  “Your idea.  Your choice of weapon.  I’m barely even a factor in this.  Just a substitute for the mech you  _really_ want to hurt you.”  The whip snapped a third time.  “I’m your excuse.”  A fourth time, and a fifth.  The paint between the welts was bubbling and cracking from the heat.  Overlord gasped, then made a pleading sound low in his throat.  “You try all your old mind games on me, but your spark really isn’t in it, is it?  Because what you want is a big, strong –”

Abruptly, Fort Max stopped and coiled the whip loosely around Overlord’s neck, where it brushed sparks against his plating and sent tiny packets of charge singing down his wires.

“ –  _stand-in for Megatron._ ”

Overlord had frozen, his optics narrowed to slits.  Max withdrew the whip, letting it drag with glacial slowness over Overlord’s plating as he did so.

And then he knelt behind Overlord, and pressed a kiss to the abused and twisted metal.

An entirely different kind of shiver went through Overlord:  convulsive, feverish.

Max breathed against his plating, “If you want me to stop…”  Only silence answered him.  He moved lower, lingering in the kiss this time, and flicked his glossa against the cooling, jagged edge of a wound.  The sharp metal sliced into him, and he tasted energon; and just for a second, Fort Max gripped the floor, fighting down nausea as the memories came rushing back.  Spilled fuel and the taste of Overlord’s plating in his mouth.  It was Garrus-9 all over again –

But no.  This time was different.  This time, Fortress Maximus was in charge.

As Max’s hands replaced his mouth, Overlord’s shivering grew worse.  Max stroked the welts tenderly, as if he could soothe away the pain he’d inflicted.  “What would Megatron think if he could see his strapping Phase Sixer now?” he crooned against Overlord’s audial.  “Being held and pampered –” a dart forward, a hard lick over inner circuitry obscenely exposed by the whip, a soft whimper in answer – “and shaking in the arms of an Autobot.  Do you like to think he’d punish you for being so weak?”  Fort Max’s hands slid down Overlord’s chest, and he nuzzled gently against Overlord’s cheek.  “Do you think he’d even want to dirty his hands with you anymore?”

“Stop.”

It came in a strangled whisper, but the effect on Fort Max was instantaneous.  He raised his hands and sat back, making sure that no part of him was touching Overlord.  After a moment, he clamboured to his feet and circled around so that he could see the other mech’s face.

Overlord’s optics were dimmed and lowered; they almost looked demure, but when he spoke, his words dripped with venom.  “ _What_ kind of game do you think you’re playing?”

Fort Max didn’t answer him.  Instead, he took in the hunch of Overlord’s shoulders, the furious set of his mouth, and imprinted them in his memory.

With a forced laugh, Overlord managed a glance up.  “It isn’t as easy to escape as you thought, is it, Max?  Even years later, you still have the instincts I instilled in you.  To please me.  To  _service_ me.”

“That’s not it,” Max pointed out sweetly.  “And you don’t really believe it is.”

As he moved to undo the cuffs, however, Overlord stiffened.  “What are you doing?”

“Letting you out.  You said stop.”

“I meant stop  _that._ Not stop  _everything._   The game isn’t over yet.”

“And I say it is.  That’s how this works, you know – each of us gets a veto.  It’s a radical new concept for you, I’m well aware.”

“Wait.  You’ve proven your point.”  Overlord’s voice sank into his familiar purr, but there was a rougher note to it, a faint timbre of something close to breaking.  “But I know you, as you know me.  It isn’t going to be enough for you to taunt me.  You want to  _use_  me, tear me open.”

Fort Max could feel his engines growl at that.  Overlord smiled.

After a moment, Fort Max smiled back.

Moving forward, he took hold of Overlord’s helm again, roughly this time.  Overlord’s optics offlined.  “Let’s see if that ridiculous mouth of yours is actually good for anything.”

Without opening his optics, Overlord let his lips part, running the tip of his glossa around them.  Fort Max scoffed at the display, but it sent a shiver down his backstrut, all the same.  His panel clicked open, spike pressurising with a speed that felt like a punch in the gut.  Gripping Overlord’s finials, he rubbed the tip of his spike over those ludicrously plush lips, staining them with silvery fluid.  Overlord rumbled his engines.  He followed the touch of Max’s spike with a flickering glossa, but didn’t attempt anything more – only opened his mouth unresistingly when Max finally thrust between his lips, and let himself be used.

Fort Max hissed at the slick heat closing around him, the slither of Overlord’s glossa against the base of his cord.  Once more, he ran his fingers over the audio finials; this time, though, instead of caressing, he scraped hard enough to score the metal.  Tiny curlicues of paint spiralled out from the scratches, and Overlord let out an unmistakable moan.

Somewhere along the way, he’d onlined his optics.  They were luminous, watching Max’s every move with rapt attention.

Max kept his expression as impassive as he could manage, his pace harsh but steady, dragging Overlord’s helm by the finials back and forth over his spike.  Whether it was the act or the pain,  _something_ was clearly affecting Overlord, as well; the bound mech’s fans whirred, and his knees were splayed wide, a thin trickle of lubricant beginning to seep around the edges of his exposed panel.

Fort Max waited until Overlord’s fans were at maximum, the heat all but pouring off his plating.  And then – with some difficulty, because the wet slide of Overlord’s lips and glossa was rapidly eroding his self-control – he started to  _talk._

“You see, this is what you really wanted, all along.  Isn’t it, Overlord?”  He let go of the finials and began running his fingers down Overlord’s cheek instead, achingly gentle.  Overlord whimpered in the back of his throat in a way that was almost panicked.  “Oh, I believe you like the pain.  Wanton thing like you – but that’s not  _why_ you suggested this.  It’s what comes after the pain.  You want  _Lord Megatron_ –” again there was a whimper, and Max silenced it by pulling Overlord’s helm flush against him, making him momentarily choke – “to hurt you, and then you want him to reward you.  To stroke your helm and fill you up and tell you –”  Max’s voice was becoming ragged.  “Tell you what a – what a  _good_ little pet you are – ah!”  He cried out as he overloaded, spurting hot transfluid down his one-time captor’s throat –

And Overlord  _moved._

In one smooth motion, he had Max pinned to the floor.  Max’s world whited out.  The sheer, looming size of Overlord, the texture of his EM field, the  _smell_ of him – all of a sudden, they were back at Garrus-9, and Fort Max was strapped to a slab with his spark chamber ripped open –

Feeling as though he were clawing at waves closing over his head, Fort Max closed his optics and desperately cycled his ventilations.  This wasn’t Garrus-9.  He had  _broken_ Overlord.  He had a  _deal_ with him.  Even Overlord wasn’t stupid enough to try something here and now, not with their ship being tracked by every Autobot outpost and vessel in the quadrant.  There were people out there who had Fort Max’s back.   _This wasn’t Garrus-9._

He onlined his optics to find Overlord smugly dangling the broken stasis cuffs above him.  “You’re as weak a prison warden as ever, Fortress Maximus.”

Max forced himself to gaze placidly up.  “Except you weren’t in prison.  What would you say if I told you that I kept the charge on the cuffs light on purpose?”  Overlord’s face twisted in a confusion that rapidly darkened to fury.  “I wanted you to realise that you could get loose whenever you needed to.  Do you know why I have my one rule, Overlord?”

Overlord sneered.  “Because it gives you distance.  Because it means you can chain a mech down and flay his plating open, and get off on the sight, and tell yourself that you’re still a  _good Autobot._ ”

Fort Max shook his head.  “Because it means I’m not you.”

For a second, Overlord only stared, his optics fevered.  Then – impossibly – he  _laughed._   Rising, he extended a hand to Fort Max.  Max waved it off, bracing himself on the bulkhead to drag his shaken frame up to standing.

“Half an hour to planetfall,” he commented, keeping his voice steady.  “Make sure you’re ready, because I’m dropping you on that ’Con base either way.”

“Oh, Fortress Maximus,” Overlord rumbled.  “I was  _sparked_ ready.”  Turning to go, he paused momentarily in the doorway.  “I look forward to the next round in our little game.”


End file.
